The other night as I lay in bed, attempting to quiet my non-stop brain and get some sleep, I started thinking about fear. Real fear, in a deep, tangible way. Moving aside the things that just give me the heebie jeebies like roaches and tornados, I started dialoguing with God about what I’m actually afraid of. What strikes a chord deep inside, that something isn’t right. And the same phrase kept repeating.
I wasn’t really sure what I was afraid of missing, as I rolled to my back and stared at the ceiling, I started that real childish way of praying that I tend to get stuck in. But what, God? But what? Missing what? Will you tell me? Huh, huh huh? Until I was honestly annoying myself, and let everything go blank so I could maybe, you know, hear the answer. And then it started to come through, slowly – like a pinhole of light.